


'Til Death, or Whatever

by verfound



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Dead Like Me AU, Endgame Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, LBSC Sprint Fic Challenge, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fic, Sprint Fic, sorta - Freeform, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/pseuds/verfound
Summary: Marinette has to get a nice dress for her next reap, which will be at a wedding.  She’s never actually been to a wedding before.  Luka’s been to too many.  (DLM AU)
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67
Collections: LBSCSprintFicChallenge





	'Til Death, or Whatever

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s still WIPvember, but I needed a palate cleanser and I was dying to use this prompt. xD Pulling the Wildcard option for this week’s LBSC SFC to use the previous prompt: “I know we said ‘Til death do we part’ but we never covered undeath” (from 10/28’s challenge). Jumping back into my DLM AU (from the Murder May collection) for this one. Luka and Marinette are grim reapers, Marinette’s still adjusting to the whole being dead thing, and that’s about all you need to know for this one, I think?
> 
> Just a reminder: LBSC Sprint Fic Challenge Guidelines: Three 15-minute sprints to write the fic. 24 hours to edit/post. (Come say hi! Join us in the challenge! It’s a great group full of cheerleading and spitballing and zaniness!)

“What about this one?” Luka asked, pulling a dress off the rack and turning towards her. He held it up to his frame like _he_ was the one who was going to be wearing it, and Marinette felt her lips twitch in a smile. She stepped over to him and lifted the skirt away from his legs, inspecting it.

It wasn’t something _Marinette_ would have worn, back when she was alive, but she supposed it could be something _Emma_ wore. It was a cream color with a lilac lace overlay, and it hung in a straight line without any flare. It was…nice enough, she supposed, but otherwise _boring_. She took the dress from Luka and turned towards the mirror, holding it up to her body and frowning. It was too long for her: she would trip and kill herself again before they made it to the ceremony.

“Do _you_ like it?” she asked, glancing at him in the mirror to gauge his reaction. He looked impassive as ever.

“It doesn’t really matter if _I_ like it,” he said, looking back at the rack of generic dresses and thumbing through a couple more. “I’m not the one wearing it.”

“But I’m supposed to be _your_ date,” she said, looking back at her reflection. She didn’t see the way his cheeks darkened at that. “So I would think you have to like it at least a _little_.”

“…it’s not a date,” he said, coughing a little. She winced at his words, but he wasn’t looking at her. “It’s a joint reap. A work assignment. You just have to look the part of _Wedding Guest M_. Or… _Wedding Guest E_ , I guess. Emma, right? That’s what you go by now?”

…right. And she supposed the dress _was_ perfect for that, at least. It was bland, generic, and nondescript: perfect for blending into the background. Perfect for remaining unseen, which was perfect when the only reason you were at the wedding in the first place was to make sure someone died.

( _“We don’t kill them, Marinette,”_ Mendeleiev’s voice echoed in her mind. _“We just facilitate the transfer of their soul from this plane to the next. We make the transition as painless as possible for them._ We don’t kill them.”)

“Do _you_ like it?” Luka asked, walking back over to her. There were two more dresses draped over his arm. She couldn’t tell anything about them except one was a deep navy and the other was green. She didn’t really want to look at them beyond that.

“I want to like it if _you_ like it,” she said. There was something about the way he breathed that made her look back at him. He wasn’t looking at her. “Luka.”

“…I don’t know, Marinette,” he sighed. “Mendeleiev just said to get a nice dress because our reap’s at a wedding. I have a suit. You’re still new at this and don’t. So here we are.”

“Marinette doesn’t like it,” she said firmly, almost glaring at herself in the mirror. She missed the way his eyebrows rose at that. “Marinette would have made her own dress. Marinette would _hate_ shopping here, and she’d be critical of everything from the itchy lace to the poorly mass-produced stitching that’s bound to fray before the first dance of the night – which is important, because Marinette would _definitely_ have danced with you. Marinette would remind you this color would make her look washed out, and…and…and Marinette doesn’t get to like things anymore. Marinette…”

She wasn’t sure when she had started crying. She wasn’t sure when he had dropped the dresses and started holding her instead. But he was, and he was shushing her as he rubbed a soothing hand along her back.

“…I’ve never been to a wedding,” she hiccoughed, her hands fisting in his shirt.

“They’re not that big a deal,” he said softly. “Standard vows. ‘ _Til death do we part_ , showy kiss, lots of rice. This one will also have dead people.”

“I used to dream about my wedding,” she said quietly. “Who I’d marry. What it would be like. What…what my dress would look like. I wanted ‘ _til death do we part_. The husband, the kids, the family…it seemed like a nice dream.”

“For some people,” he said, somewhat gruffly – just like he always sounded when she tried to talk about the heavy stuff with him. Things that were too personal, or too close to _feelings_ – things he had closed himself off to, just like most reapers she’d met since… “Never really seemed in the cards for me. I was more focused on the music.”

A choked little laugh escaped her at that. Somehow, from the little Juleka had told her and the even less Luka had shared, that didn’t really surprise her. Her hand fisted in his shirt, and he held her closer.

“You deserved the dream, Marinette,” he whispered softly to her. “I’m sorry you won’t get it. You would’ve made a good wife. A good mom.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his shirt. He chuckled a little, his hand still rubbing her back.

“They always say _‘til death do we part,_ ” he hummed. He bent his head to her own, pressing his lips against her hair, and she froze. “But no one ever covers undeath. I don’t think I know a single married reaper. Most of us just…have flings.”

“…I don’t think I’m made for flings,” she mumbled. He chuckled again, his hand squeezing her hip where he was still holding her.

“Me, neither,” he agreed. “It’s kinda hard to do long-term commitments, though, when you never know…”

She thought that was dumb, too. No one ever knew, even if they were alive. That’s part of why it was so risky – and part of what was supposed to make it so worth it. Right?

“You ok?” he asked, his hand stilling on her back. She hesitated a moment before nodding, and then she stepped away from him. She winced when her heel stepped on a hanger, snapping it in half. “Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking when…I kinda just grabbed the first one. Let’s find something you actually want to wear, ok? If we have to dress you up, you might as well like it.”

She shrugged a little as she bent to retrieve the dresses on the ground. The green one wasn’t anything special, but the navy…it was sleeveless, with its neckline arching in a modest sweetheart, and flared from where it gathered at the bust. A spray of yellow-white wildflowers danced along the hem, making her think of tiny stars. It was actually…kind of nice. Close enough to something _Marinette_ would have worn, but maybe just different enough that _Emma_ could like it, too.

She smiled and stood, holding the navy dress against her body before she turned back to Luka.

“What about this one?” she asked. The smile he gave her did pleasant things to her stomach, though she tried to tell herself it didn’t.

Her and Luka…they weren’t like that.

They couldn’t be.

…right?

“I think you’ll look beautiful,” he said, taking the first dress and the green one and putting them back on a rack. “You should definitely save me a dance. A dress like that deserves to be danced in.”

Her face felt warm, but she told herself it was just the lights. Luka took the dress from her, and before she could stop him he was taking it up to the register to pay. He took her wallet and dropped it back in her purse when she tried to argue, telling her to forget it – it was his treat. The cashier looked at her like she was stupid ( _“Let your cute boyfriend pay for your dress, idiot!”_ ), but she told herself she was just imagining that, too.

Luka whistled, jolting her out of her thoughts, and it was easier to excuse her blush as embarrassment when she realized he was holding the door to the shop open for her. She ignored the obvious look the cashier was still giving her and hurried after him.

– V –

The wedding had been…nice. Marinette figured it would have meant more if she’d been personally connected to either party, but it had still been lovely. She sat with Luka towards the back, and the dork had even tried handing her a travel-size pack of tissues at one point. She’d lifted an eyebrow and stared at him with completely dry eyes, and he’d shrugged a little.

“I’ve played a few weddings,” he said quietly, enough to not disturb the guests around them. “Been to even more for work. People cry.”

“I don’t even know them,” she’d whispered back, but he’d just smiled at her.

“You’ll cry,” he’d said.

…she’d ended up snatching the tissues from him when the couple exchanged their personalized vows, telling him to shut up as he snickered.

They’d mingled with the other guests before the reception, which started a good hour before their people were set to die, and quickly located their reaps: a member of the bridal party and a shifty guy in a ramshackle suit. The bridesmaid was easy enough to identify, but it had taken Luka a few minutes of conversation to find the guy – and that had only been because another bridesmaid had seen him and Luka had overheard her harsh whisper to a groomsman: _“Ugh, what the fuck is_ Pierre Harper _doing here? Kris is gonna freak!”_ With their souls popped, Luka and Marinette had retired to a table in the back of the reception hall to wait for the fireworks to start.

At least…that had been Marinette’s plan.

Most people were still eating dinner. A few were ambling around, talking and laughing and catching up with old friends and family, while the deejay played generic love songs from the stage. No one was dancing yet – Marinette was pretty sure no one was allowed to until the couple took the stage. The traditional _first dance_ and all that. She looked down at her chicken dinner, idly pushing some undercooked green beans around on her plate, when Luka tapped her on the shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said when she looked up at him.

“What?” she asked. He had stood at some point and was holding his hand out to her.

“Once those two kick it it’s going to be chaos,” he said. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the dancefloor. “I think I asked you to save me a dance?”

“L-Luka…” she stammered, her eyes widening as she glanced at the empty dancefloor. “No one else is…I don’t think we’re allowed…”

“The deejay’s playing, isn’t he?” he asked. “C’mon, Marinette. There’s music. You look incredible tonight – I have the prettiest date here, and I need to show her off. Didn’t I tell you a dress like that deserves to be danced in? C’mon. Dance with me.”

“You…I…you said this wasn’t a date,” she said, scrambling for excuses. He took her hand and pulled her out of her chair, pulling her close to his chest.

“It’s not,” he said, “but just because we’re working doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun, right?”

He bent towards her, his lips brushing over her cheek in a feather-light kiss that set her heart racing. He leaned by her ear, and his breath against her skin made her shiver. She could feel him smile at that.

“It’s just a dance, Marinette,” he whispered. “I’m not asking for ‘ _til death do we part._ ”

“We’re already dead,” she mumbled, because with Luka this close and holding her like he was she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She shivered again when that made him chuckle, his breath tickling her ear. The smile he gave her when he pulled back wasn’t fair, and she found herself letting him lead her towards the dancefloor as a new song started.

“Perfect,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the low lights. He pulled her close and started swaying as some high-voiced woman sang about _forever_ and _true love_ and everything Marinette had thought she’d never get to experience, not anymore. But when he held her close like this, when he smiled and watched her like she was the only girl he could see… “Then we don’t really have anything to worry about, do we?”


End file.
